


The Associate

by imakemyownblog



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Female Reader, First Meetings, Flirting, short series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 21:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imakemyownblog/pseuds/imakemyownblog
Summary: Your dad has been talking non-stop about his new co-worker and you’ve had enough. Until you see said co-worker in person, that is…





	

**Author's Note:**

> The requested prompt: “My father talked about a co-worker for quite a bit, but I thought you were around his age, not… my age. And attractive. But I was very wrong.”
> 
> (Originally posted to my tumblr @imakemyownblog)

A long sigh escaped through your nostrils as you picked away at your dinner, your eyes switching back and forth between your parents as they conversed between mouthfuls of their own food. **  
**

Your dad was talking about that damned co-worker of his _again_. 

You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes as he blabbered on about how this new guy was sliding up the ranks like it was nothing. Last night’s dinner topic had been about how he finally got to meet him face to face, and then the night before that, it was about how “the big boss already favours him”. You were having a hard time figuring out if your dad had it out for this guy or if he was just curious about him. Either way, you had no interest whatsoever in learning about your dad’s work partners— _especially_ if the dinner topic was going to be about the same guy every damn night.

“Shay’s his name, right? How did he get into the business so easily?” Your mum questioned as she cut into her steak, “You said your boss is very specific when it comes to who he hires for the upper floors.”

Your dad shrugged, looking as clueless as she did. “I’ve got no idea,” he said and then scoffed, “it took me _forever_ to get where I am and this man’s already at the same rank as I am in less than a month? I don’t know whether to be impressed or to feel cheated…”

Your mum noted the conflicted expression on her husband’s face and immediately moved to console him, “Oh honey, you’ve worked hard to gain your position. You deserve it as much as he does.”

With the last mouthful of food in your mouth, you nudged your chair back and took your dirty dishes to the sink for washing. You’d already had enough of this guy and you haven’t even met him. He was probably some old snob who sucked up to the boss all the time—though you had a hard time believing that Haytham Kenway would be the type to fall for such insincerity.

You’d only met your dad’s boss once at a work party, but it was enough to know that he was not a pushover in any way. In fact, during the brief exchange of handshakes, you almost cringed away from the man due to his strict and authoritative conduct, the grey colours in his eyes doing nothing to dull the strictness lying beneath them. From then on, you were convinced the man had somehow peered into your soul and, to this day, you still had no idea why someone as dorky and gentle as your dad would work for someone so… _intimidating_.

You brushed off the unwanted thoughts. There was no point in dwelling over it if you didn’t have the answers to it. Now was the time to kick back, relax and watch some random movie on Netflix before you slipped into your warm bed for a much needed rest.

* * *

 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You strained a reply, currently trying to keep the foamy face wash from dripping into your eyes.

It was almost eight in the morning and you were about ready to head off for work. All you needed to do now was fix your hair, grab a quick bite to eat and then go. You dipped your head forward again to quickly rinse off your face before seeking your mum out.

“Mum?” You gently pat your face dry with your towel as you made your way down the hallway. You found her in the kitchen, fussing over a shiny, blue lunchbox. You sighed, already knowing what she was going to ask of you. “ _Yes mum_. I’ll drop it off on the way.”

She smiled, walking over to your work bag that sat at the dining room table and placing it inside. “Thank you, dear. Be sure to scold him for it!”

“I know,” you laughed, already aware of the drill.

You heard her muttering under her breath as she walked off, no doubt cursing your dad for being so forgetful all the time. This was the fourth time that he’d forgotten his lunch this month and it was only the fifteenth.

You shook your head. _What would he do without us?_

Flinging the damp towel into the laundry, you gently ran your fingers through your long hair. It wasn’t too messy, thank god. You’d have no time to do anything fancy with it, though, and that instantly plummeted your good mood. It was _fine_. You’d have to play a prank on your dad as payback for it. Perhaps it was time to pull out the amazingly red socks you’d bought last week and chuck them in the wash along with his _pristine white_ office shirts while he was unaware.

After fixing up a quick breakfast of eggs on toast, you were out the door and reversing down the driveway in your little Ford Focus. It wasn’t too long before you reached the heart of the city and the tall building of the Kenway company stood before you in all its refined glory. You managed to squeeze your little hatchback into a parallel parking spot across the road so you could make the necessary phone call to your dad.

You sighed, listening to the repetitive dialling tone as you waited for him to answer. It was like this every time. You would call him, he would answer and say he’s coming outside now with a thousand apologies that make your eyes roll—

You startled when a deep, accented voice answered, _“Hello?”_

Your brows furrowed in confusion. This didn’t sound like your dad at all. In fact, the person who answered sounded Irish and your family had no Irish blood whatsoever. Trying to collect your muddled thoughts, you replied slowly, “Uh, yeah, hello… Who’s this?”

The mystery man had the gall to laugh quietly, _“I should be asking you the same thing, lass. You did call this phone, after all.”_

“Well, _excuse me_ for thinking my dad would answer his own phone…” You retorted, resisting the urge to direct some colourful swear words at this guy.

 _“Ah, so you’re Y/N then,”_ the man concluded with a laugh. _“Your father’s in a meeting at the moment and he told me you’d likely try to call him. Said he’d forgotten his lunch again?”_

“Yeah, he did,” you groaned, sliding a hand down your face in frustration, “and you didn’t answer my question either. Who the hell are you?”

_“Tell you what? Head into reception and I’d be delighted to let you know as you hand me your father’s lunchbox.”_

Your eyes widened in incredulity. Was this guy _flirting_ with you? “I will _not_ —”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Motherfucker.” You grumbled, shoving your phone into the pocket of your leather jacket. You gazed at the tall building again. Despite being here plenty of times, you’d never actually gone inside before. Normally, your dad would come out to retrieve his lunch and you’d be off on your merry way after that, problem solved—but not this time.

You blinked down at your slightly messier-than-usual attire and huffed. At least the jacket covered up the mess that was your restaurant uniform, but it did little to cover up the tired features of your face. You shook your head and pushed the door open, “Of all the days…”

Turning the car off, you reached over to the passenger seat to grab your bag and pull out your dad’s lunchbox. Slamming the door as you got out, you looked both ways before crossing the busy road. You were already running late for work and you had no desire to talk to your dad’s _friends_ either.

Walking through the revolving glass doors at the entrance, you barely registered the grandness of the reception area as you stormed right up to the front desk where a middle-aged lady was seated. She looked up from her computer, startled by your quick approach. “May I help you?” She asked, adjusting the purple glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, I’m here to drop off my dad’s lunch.” You told her, about to hand it over the counter.

The woman’s mouth opened to reply before she was interrupted by a familiar voice—the same one that answered the phone. “Don’t worry, Cassidy. She’s here for me.”

You glanced over your shoulder to find a young man seated on one of the guest lounges beside the entrance. His handsome face was twisted into an amused expression as he watched you from across the spacious room, his legs crossed as he leaned back into the chair.

He appeared to be rather well-built and not at all what you were expecting. No, what you were _expecting_ was some sour grump who wore a boring grey suit and an ugly tie—like that Charles Lee dude you had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting at your dad’s work party. But this guy looked to be around your age, perhaps a tad older if you had to guess?

Snapping yourself back to reality, you apologized to Cassidy and reluctantly moved towards the young man. You came to a steady halt in front of the glass coffee table that separated the two of you. Now that you were much closer to him, you could see his face properly and, _god_ , he was so attractive.

His dark brown hair was tied back neatly, leaving a perfect view of his angular face. His skin was rather clear, save for a lengthy scar that ran down from the middle of his forehead, over his right eye and to the apple of his cheek. You briefly wondered how it happened, but became distracted by the fact that his dark eyes seemed to be wandering as well.

You subconsciously shifted on your feet, cursing yourself for looking so unprepared. At least he didn’t look unimpressed—that, or he was just really good at hiding it. You wouldn’t be surprised really. 

He abruptly stood up from the lounge and rounded the table to stand directly in front of you. You almost took a step back out of caution. This guy was a lot taller than he appeared while he was sitting down on the lounge and you couldn’t help but to be slightly intimidated by his brazen confidence. Was intimidation a requirement in this company?

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, holding out his hand towards you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his as he spoke the next part. “Shay Patrick Cormac, at your service.”

Your mouth fell open slightly. _This_ was the Shay that your dad apparently couldn’t stand, but also kind of respected? The same man who often stole the spotlight from everyone else? The same man who hadn’t even been here a year and was already at the same ranking as your dad?

If you’d have known he was this attractive—

“Is there something wrong?” He asked, subtly glancing down at his lingering hand.

_Oh shit, he probably thinks I don’t want a handshake._

At that thought, you quickly caught his hand in your own before it could fall to his side. It was large compared to your own smaller one, his long fingers closing around your hand in a firm grip. You hadn’t even realized you were just standing there, staring at your linked hands until you heard him chuckle.

“Do I have to ask the question again or…?” He trailed off, arching a brow.

“Sorry, I just…” You blinked dumbly before jerking your hand back and holding the lunchbox towards him, “Could you make sure my dad gets this?”

“Of course,” he said, taking the lunchbox and tucking it under his arm. His friendly smile shifted into something resembling a smirk, “He should forget his lunch more often…”

Now, for a comment like that, you normally would have retaliated by punching the person on the arm, but you were too busy wondering if he was flirting with you again or if he was just being flat-out rude. Judging by the mischievous look on his face, it was probably a mixture of both, and you were not in the mood for his shenanigans, so you simply glared at him and turned on your heel to leave.

“I’m late for work.” You mumbled.

You could feel his gaze following your form as you walked away, the heels of your shoes tapping quietly along the shiny, marble floors. Just before you reached the revolving doors, you heard him call out behind you.

“Your buttons are done up in the wrong order, y/n!”

Your steps faltered as you glanced down at your attire and, surely enough, the buttons were done up incorrectly, making your shirt sit lopsidedly on your frame. The smart ass wasn’t hiding his amused chuckles either as you gave him the middle finger over your shoulder and continued on your way.

You had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you saw Shay Cormac.


End file.
